


Final Rites

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [34]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Scoobies can't leave well enough alone, and the repercussions on everyone are devastating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eulogy

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Mydeira, beta'd by Sadbhyl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan finds out what the gang’s been up to this summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the events of the episode Bargaining. Marti Noxon’s dialogue from the episode is used with the utmost respect and admiration.

They thought they were being discreet. But Ethan could feel the tense anticipation building whenever the four young people were together. The fact that they hadn’t said anything to Rupert about it was a good indication that it wasn’t something he’d approve of, whatever it was. But he was so sunk in his own sorrow and guilt that he wasn’t even aware that they were up to anything.

Which left it to Ethan to deal with.

The demon girl was the easiest to read. She just really wasn’t capable of deception. So he stuck close to her, spending time in the shop under the guise of doing some of his own research. He watched her spend time online instead of coercing customers out of their money. And then suddenly she stopped and instead began fretting over the arrival of the UPS delivery, making certain every day that she was the one to meet it and not Rupert.

It took five days for the package to arrive. She sorted anxiously through the stack of boxes and suddenly froze, staring at the small square box as though it were a viper. Without touching it, she went to the phone and dialed quickly, always watching the package. Ethan found himself wondering what it would do himself. “It’s here,” she said quietly into the phone. “As sure as I can be. I’m taking it home now. Because I don’t want Giles to find it, do you? It cost a lot of money, and if he takes it away . . . About half an hour.” She hung up the phone unsteadily and moved back to the box on the counter.

Taking a box cutter from her pocket, she neatly slit the tape and opened it. Ethan didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t a small tin box and a smaller ceramic jar. She scanned over the packing slip, then crumpled it up and dropped it into the trash before returning the objects to the box and sealing it up again. Box in her arms, she came around the counter headed single mindedly for the door. But her steps faltered, torn between her responsibilities there and the urgency of her secret mission. Finally she turned to Ethan. “Something’s come up, and I have to go home for a little while. Would you watch the money until Giles comes back? He should only be a few minutes.”

“I’d be glad to,” he responded magnanimously. He could afford to be. It suited his needs perfectly. “When should I tell Rupert to expect you back?”

Her eyes flickered to the cash register and back to him. “I’ll probably just be a couple of hours. You do understand that when I say watch the money, I don’t mean for you to actually go near it, right?”

He fought down an amused smirk. “I’m familiar enough with the phrase. Go run your errand. Your ill-gotten capitalist gains will be safe with me.”

Her expression was more distrustful now, but she had no choice. “Fine,” she sighed. “Just make sure to tell Giles. I don’t want him to think I left the shop unattended.”

“You can be certain of it.”

With one last hesitant look to the cash register, she forced herself to leave, still clutching the box nervously.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Ethan was on his feet. He went behind the counter and fished around in the waste bin until he came up with one tightly balled sheet of paper. He unfolded it and spread it flat, reading over the contents of the box. One limited edition Backstreet Boys lunch box. Hardly worthy of her anxiety level. A deep, burning shame perhaps. But the second item made his eyes go wide. The ramifications of that one item were instantly clear to him, and suddenly he knew precisely who was on the other end of that phone. If that daft little girl was going to attempt what she must be planning to . . .

The doorbell jangled, announcing Rupert’s return. Ethan quickly folded the packing slip and stuffed it into his pocket as Rupert slowed to a halt in front of the counter. “What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously. “Where’s Anya?”

“Poor girl had an emergency and had to rush off. Asked me to mind the shop until you got back. She’s only been gone a few minutes. I haven’t had time to nick anything.”

“I didn’t think you had,” Rupert protested, although Ethan saw the flash of doubt in his eyes.

“Well, now that you’re back,” Ethan said, coming out from behind the counter, “I can be on my way.” He stacked up the references he’d been going through and grabbed his notebook. “Off to see what I can stir up.”

But Rupert was already lost again in his own world, his only response a half vocalized “Hmm.”

His lack of response infuriated Ethan, but he resisted lashing out. Rupert wasn’t going to be able to handle this, and if he tried, he’d just bollix it up completely. Better that Ethan should deal with it.

At least the little witch was afraid of him.

 

 

He hesitated outside the apartment door. Early on he had made it a point to locate the domiciles of all Rupert’s protégés. There was no telling where he might be if Ethan needed him. And while the demoness had her own apartment, Ethan knew that for all intents and purposes she lived here in the boy’s flat. He had watched from across the street until he saw the boy and then the two witches approach the building and disappear inside. As soon as he was certain of not being seen, he followed.

He moved closer to the door, listening intently. They didn’t seem to be saying much, but he could hear movement. Gripping the knob, he turned it oh so slowly until its rotation was stopped by the lock. He whispered a soft charm and felt the tumblers release with a gentle click, hopefully too quiet for anyone inside to have heard. The latch retracted and he pushed the door open slowly.

Tara was looking at the ceramic jar reverently. “The urn of Osiris,” she breathed.

The redhead looked to the demon girl. “You really found it.”

The girl smiled modestly. “Yeah. It wasn't easy. I went through every supplier the Magic Box has.”

“You used a Magic Box supplier?” The witch was suddenly tense. “What if Giles finds out?”

“That’s an excellent question.” Ethan pushed the door open the rest of the way, swaggering in to the sound of their collective surprise. “Let’s think about that for a moment, shall we?” He plucked the jar from Willow’s astonished hands. “What would Ripper say if he knew his little cadre of goody two shoes were going behind his back to collect all the elements of a resurrection spell? I’m sure you’ve given it some thought, since you’ve decided to keep it from him.”

“It’s not like that,” she protested. “He’s just . . . he’s been hurting so bad since . . . both him and Mrs. Summers. You’ve seen it. I know you have. We just . . . they might not understand.”

“And you do? Have you really thought about all the possibilities?”

That got her back up. “Of course I have!” He could feel the dark flickers of energy around her. “Do you think I just woke up one morning and thought, ‘Oh, I know, let’s bring Buffy back from the dead! It’ll be fun!’ I’ve been studying this and preparing for this for months. Now it’s time to act.”

“It's time?” The boy looked suddenly anxious. “Like, *time* time? With the. . .” he gestured vaguely, “timeliness?”

“Are you sure?” the demon girl asked uncertainly.

The redhead nodded emphatically. “I am.”

Her girlfriend added her support. “Mercury's in retrograde, and we have . . .” she hesitated. “Do we have everything?”

“Just about.”

Tara seemed to pick up the uncertainty flying about the room. “What if something does go wrong?”

“I'm telling you it won't.”

Ethan stood silently and listened to them justify what they were about to do.

The boy spoke up. “Scenario -- We raise Buffy from the grave, she tries to eat our brains. Do we, a) congratulate ourselves on a job well done. . .”

“Xander,” she protested, “this isn't zombies.”

“Zombies don't eat brains anyway,” his girlfriend added matter-of-factly, “unless instructed to by their zombie masters. A lot of people get that wrong.”

The redhead brought them back to focus. “This isn't like anything we've dealt with before. Buffy didn't die a natural death. She was killed by mystical energy.”

“Which means we do have a shot,” Tara supplied.

“It means more than that.” The redhead looked at the boy. “It means we don't know . . . where she really is.”

“We saw her body, Will,” he denied her statement. “We buried it.”

“Her body, yeah. But her soul . . . her essence . . . I mean, that could be somewhere else. She could be trapped, in-in some sort of hell dimension like Angel was.” She became dramatically teary. But Ethan couldn’t tell if it was genuine emotion or if she was trying to influence her friends. “Suffering eternal torment, just because she saved us, and I'm not gonna let . . . I'm not gonna leave her there. It's Buffy.”

The boy looked at her for a long moment before deciding. “What time do we meet?”

“I’ll be coming with you,” Ethan said flatly.

“We don’t need your help” she almost spat at him.

“Little girl, you’re playing with powers you don’t even know if you can control. Your lady friend is right. Something could go very wrong, and you need someone there with the ability to clean up after you and save your precious skins. You won’t go to Ripper, so you’ve got me. If you don’t like it, well then I’ll just have to let him know what you’re about. And that’s not likely to end well for any of us, is it?”

He could see her analyzing, evaluating, adjusting the scenario in her head to fit the new parameters. Finally she narrowed her eyes. “Alright, you can come. But you’ll do what I tell you, you got it?”

“As long as it’s in my best interests, gladly.”

“Buffy is my friend and this is my working, do you understand?”

And suddenly Ethan comprehended the girl a little better, and he didn’t like what he knew. His eyes narrowed sharply. “As long as this is about the Slayer, you’ll have no problems from me.”

That seemed to satisfy her. “Good. Then we all meet back here at sunset tomorrow. We can all go out to the grave together.”

The group broke up, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “For not telling. Think how happy everyone else is going to be when we give her back to them.”

His expression didn’t soften in the least. “I certainly hope so. For both our sakes.”

 

 

The lights were on in the apartment in spite of the late hour, or more likely because of it. Ethan let himself in without knocking and was greeted by the strong smell of scotch and the guitar rifts of “Purple Haze.” Rupert reclined in the armchair, eyes closed, and glass of amber liquid balanced precariously on the armrest.

“I’m going back, Ethan,” Rupert’s voice was gravelly.

It was then he noticed the half packed boxes scattered around the room.

“Going back where, Ripper?” he kicked a stray box aside. “Back to London? Back to the Council?”

The only response was the clinking of ice against the thick glass.

“Ripper! Rupert! You’re serious? You’re really going back? To them?”

Rupert pushed himself up out of the chair, weariness hanging heavy about him. “I’d be a fool to pass it up.”

“You’d give Quentin Travers the satisfaction of having you under his thumb again. That alone should keep you from going back!”

“They need me there, Ethan. I can be of some use to them.”

“Christ, Ripper, I thought you’d changed,” Ethan rubbed his eyes wearily. This wasn’t his job. He created chaos, not tried to keep it from happening. When had he become the surrogate father figure?

When Rupert stopped caring.

“What’s keeping me here?” Rupert asked, no real interest behind the query, only humoring Ethan by asking.

Giving in to the inevitable, Ethan stated the obvious, “Joyce.”

His friend laughed bitterly. “Joyce, who’s barely spoken to me since Buffy fell?”

“How much of an effort have you made, really? Or have you let your own cowardice in the face of your self-perceived guilt hold you back? You blame yourself and you’re afraid she’s doing the same,” he concluded with exasperation. What made even more frustrating was the fact that he knew Rupert was aware of these things and still did nothing to change the outcome.

“And she has every right!”

“Oh, do get over yourself, Ripper. Playing the martyr was old twenty years ago! It’s time you got a new act. ‘Woe is me, how I suffer,’” Ethan spat. “Spare me the dramatics.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Ethan. There’s no point in dragging things out when they’re already past over,” Rupert said with quiet resignation. “I’m flying out the day after next.”

Ethan blinked. The day after . . . He looked around at the room, not even half-packed. Seemed like Rupert was still fighting with his decision.

“What about the store?”

“Anya’s been running it for most of the summer and the majority of last year as well. Probably why sales have been up,” he smiled faintly.

“Were you even going to say good-bye?”

Rupert shrugged.

“What, you were just going to pack up and leave, letting the rest of us figure it out in due course?” Ethan let the question hang heavy with accusation. “No, wait, never mind. That’s your MO isn’t it? Disappearing without a ‘by your leave’ or ‘so long.’”

He could tell from the brief stricken look that flashed across Rupert’s face that he knew exactly what Ethan was talking about.

“What could I have said?” Rupert said sadly. “Sorry for nearly killing you, mate, best I leave now before anyone else dies?”

“Would have been better than finding out you left from the bloody nurse! Fucking hell, Ripper, you owed me that much!” Ethan was shaking with rage. Some wounds never did quite heal, did they? “Fine, you know what, go! Good riddance to you. When the going gets tough Rupert Giles heads out of town.”

“Ethan,” Rupert reached for him, but Ethan brushed the hand away as he backed up.

“I’m sure you’ll be quite happy being an automaton again.” With that said, he turned and headed for the door, the common “Be seeing you” dead in the air between them.

 

 

They moved quietly through the cemetery that was the most direct route to the Slayer’s grave. They were all silent and somber, but Ethan could feel the waves of excitement and anticipation coming off the redhead. She was scared, but she had something to prove that had nothing to do with rescuing her friend.

Ethan sidled up to her. “They don’t know what you’ve done, do they?”

She glanced guiltily at her friends and fell back a step. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Vino de madre is such an innocuous phrase. So much less disconcerting than blood of the innocents. Where did you get it?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It’s a slippery slope you’re on, little girl. And you might not like what you find at the bottom.”

“I did what I had to do,” she protested, her face hard. “They wouldn’t understand.”

“You seem to be saying that quite a bit. I think you’re afraid they will understand all too well and they won’t approve.”

“I did what they can’t. Like I always do.”

He studied her sternly. “Rupert’s been falling down on your ethics training.”

“My ethics are fine,” she snapped. “And you’re a fine one to be lecturing me on ethics.”

“Oh, I know ethics quite well. I learned them thoroughly so I could make an educated decision when I threw them over. You’re wandering into deep woods with a blindfold on. And you’re going to get lost.”

She looked ready to argue with him, but they had arrived at their destination, and the others were waiting.

They circled around, each holding a candle. The redhead prepared the urn, crouching at the foot of the grave. Ethan settled himself behind the headstone, tending the energy these children weren’t skilled enough to focus.

And then the girl began.

“Osiris, keeper of the gate, master of all fate, hear us,” she chanted, her voice growing stronger as she went on. “Before time, and after. Before knowing and nothing.” She carefully anointed herself from the contents of the urn, and then poured the remainder out onto the ground. “Accept our offering. Know our prayer.”

Ethan felt a quick energy spike just as long gashes appeared on her arms, the flesh peeling back from itself horribly. The others all gasped, and the boy reached for her. “Willow!”

Tara stopped him. “No. She told me ... she’d be tested. This is supposed to happen.”

The redhead gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain and the rivulets of blood pouring down her arms. “Osiris! Here lies the warrior of the people. Let her cross over.”

Suddenly her skin was crawling, literally. Lumps formed under her skin and moved up her trunk slowly and deliberately, marking a wandering track as they went. She moaned softly in pain.

The boy tried again. “She needs help!”

“Xander, she’s strong!” Tara warded him off again. “She said not to stop, no matter what. If we break the cycle now, it’s over.”

A sound rumbled in the distance, vaguely like reverberating thunder, and moving closer. “Oh god, what is that noise?” the demon girl whimpered as they all looked around, only the redhead still transfixed by her own torment.

She drew their attention back as she cried out her command yet again. “Osiris, let her cross over! Aah. . .” She began choking as the lumps under her skin coalesced, strangling her as they came together.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” her lover whispered in fear.

The redhead convulsed and fell forward, gagging. But instead of bile, a serpent’s head thrust its way out of her mouth, more and more revealing itself as she convulsed until the whole thing deposited itself on the grass in front of her, slithering over the grave mound before disappearing into the earth.

“It’s a test,” Tara chanted, as much to convince herself as to give them courage. “It’s a test. Willow. . .”

The witch was aglow now, encased in swirling red energy, fighting to control and focus it. “Osiris, release her!” Her command was tired, weaker. She wasn’t fighting hard enough to control this. Ethan almost reached out to give her a push . . .

When a dozen motorcycles burst out of the trees and began circling them, their demon riders keening with predatory glee.

“Told you somebody was out here, boss!” one of the demons shouted over the roar of the cycle engines.

“You were right, Raz,” the alpha demon shouted back. “Tell you what, you take your pick. As a sort of reward!”

Raz howled and spun his wheels, fishtailing through the grass as he charged towards Tara, crushing the fragile urn beneath his studded tires.

“No!” The redhead screamed in panic and rage as the energy flickered out around her.

Ethan lashed out with as much force as he could muster. Summoning the simulacrums all summer had drained him, but he had enough reserves to knock the demons off their bikes. “Run!” he shouted at the children, huddling like sheep in the face of the attack. “It’s too late! Save yourselves!” He backed towards the woods when the boy helped the redhead to her feet, the other two girls rabbitting into the woods as the demons righted their bikes and mounted up again amidst screams of rage. Certain the children were safe, Ethan disappeared into the tree line himself, headed in the direction of Rupert’s apartment.  



	2. Eulogy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How things might have gone if Giles stuck around for one more day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the episode Bargaining II. David Fury’s dialogue from the episode is used with the utmost respect and admiration.

Giles took one last look around his bedroom before hoisting the final box of his things and heading downstairs. It didn’t do to dwell on all that had transpired in the room and never would take place again. 

The first few weeks after he returned from England, Giles had tried everything to ignore the truth that Quentin Travers had spoken to him during his visit. But it is impossible to un-see something once you are finally made to face it. The distance between he and Joyce and Ethan only grew with each passing day. Willow and Xander and Anya and Tara kept to themselves, a tight-knit group, bound by their loss. He was no longer needed here. And if he was needed, he wasn’t wanted, which pretty much became the same thing in the end. 

Giving Travers the satisfaction was almost enough motivation to make him keep trying here. But then there were the memories of how things were and would never be again. Learning to live again from a mere slip of a girl. Falling in love. Finding himself. Coming to terms with who he was and who he had been. Or had it all been an illusion? It had shattered easily enough in the end. 

Carefully he made his way down the stairs. About halfway down, he realized he wasn’t alone in the apartment. Ethan was standing near the couch, out of breath.

“Come to give me another lecture, Ethan?” Giles smirked, setting the box down on the table.

“We have trouble. They know the girl is dead,” Ethan said without preamble.

Giles’ momentary confusion was immediately replaced by wide-eyed realization. “What happened?”

“I can only assume some demon ran up against the simulacrum and found out what it was,” his friend replied. He was briefly interrupted as a group of motorbikes revved down the street. “And those are the lovely fellows who have decided to make Sunnydale their new playground.”

Giles looked to the ceiling and shook his head. “They couldn’t have waited.” His gaze shifted back down and he noticed that not only was Ethan winded but his clothes were dirty and disheveled. “What have you been up to?”

“The town’s under attack and you’re wondering what I’ve been up to? You probably think I orchestrated this to keep you here.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Giles mumbled as he scanned the room.

Impatient as always, Ethan could only let the silence last a few seconds before speaking. “Are you going to help or not? Your precious children are out running around like headless chickens but if you’re too busy, then I’ll—”

“Christ, would you give me a second to think? I’m trying to remember where I packed the bloody weapons.” There it was! He made his way over to a stack and tore open a box. Grabbing a couple axes, he headed for the door, leaving Ethan with nothing to do but follow after.

 

Giles was impressed by how much destruction the gang had managed to create in such a short time. Downtown was already a shambles. He could only imagine what they would do given a day or two.

There was a temporary lull for the moment. Giles and Ethan made their way through the streets to the Magic Box. If Willow and the others were to be found, it would be there at the shop to regroup and gather supplies. 

Giles entered first, and was almost beheaded by Anya. As it was, the girl still managed to hit him upside the head.

“Oh Giles! Oh god! Don’t take the store from me! I was just defending it. That’s good right? Shows dedication,” she babbled on. Then she hit him on the arm. “How could you be so stupid? Don’t you know how to knock?”

“Anya, I’m not here to take the store from you,” he rubbed his head. The woman’s thought process absolutely baffled him sometimes. “Is everyone alright?”

The room was silent enough to hear the proverbial pin drop. He noticed Willow sitting by herself at the table. Even in the dim light, he could swear she blanched when she saw him. Which usually meant one thing: she’d done something he wouldn’t approve of. Giles was also certain Willow’s transgressions were the least of his worries at the moment.

And, true to form, the Hellmouth proved him right.

Xander hung up the phone he had been on since Giles and Ethan arrived. “Mrs. Summers says Dawn’s out with Spike. Not sure where they went,” he said flatly.

Demon bikers taking over the town, Willow up to some magic he wouldn’t approve of, and Dawn most likely in danger. Just another typical Tuesday night in Sunnydale. If he had been smart, he would have flown out last week.

He took charge. “Any ideas where they usually go? What they do?”

“Spike’s crypt?” Anya suggested.

“The movies?” Xander added.

“D-dawnie’s mentioned k-kitten poker,” Tara spoke up, “behind Willy’s, I-I think.”

The poor girl nearly wilted under the reproachful looks.

“Alright then. We’ll start from the cinema and work our way out. Agreed?” Not that he left them that much choice.

Three heads nodded in agreement. The fourth remained bent as Willow kept muttering to herself.

“Just a few more seconds. That’s all I needed. A few seconds more.”

“Willow?” Giles asked with concern; he wasn’t used to seeing the girl so withdrawn.

She looked up at him, eyes wide and tearing. “She’s not coming back, is she, Giles? It’s only us now.” Before he could reply, Willow pushed herself up and headed for the rear entrance, shedding the disheartened acceptance with determination. “Let’s go find Dawn.”

There was nothing to do except follow.

Once outside, Ethan and he took the lead as the group made their way through the alley. 

“What happened tonight, Ethan?” Giles asked, carefully watching the shadows.

Ethan hesitated before answering. Sighing wearily, “It doesn’t matter, Ripper.”

“The fact you seemed to all be in the same place when the attack happened matters,” Giles said pointedly.

“Was keeping my eye on things.” Giles could almost hear the unsaid, “unlike some people.”

That stung more than Giles cared to admit. Intentional or not, he had been slowly pulling back, removing himself from the group all summer. It wasn’t his place, never really had been. And with going back to the Council . . . 

That still didn’t explain why Ethan, of all people, was with them this evening. Things had been uneasy at best whenever he had to interact with the children. He never intentionally sought out their company; tried to avoid it actually. That coupled with Willow’s behavior did nothing to offset the growing unease Giles felt.

A dark figure dropped to the ground before them, halting the group in their tracks. Standing, the figure turned out to be a girl with dirty blonde hair, torn black dress hanging loose about her. Her eyes tracked their movements warily, narrowing occasionally as if trying to see more. 

Giles blinked. According to Ethan, his last simulacrum had been destroyed days ago. The other option was impossible. It couldn’t be—

“Buffy?” Willow asked, pushing forward.

The sudden movement startled the girl. She stood there frozen like a wild animal caught in the headlights. An instant later she was in motion, running away from them. 

“Buffy?” Giles asked the empty air. 

A moment later they were running after her.

Slowly as they pounded along the asphalt the pieces started to fall into place. What he had mistaken as silent grief and taking comfort in each other had been secrecy and plotting. Ethan’s recent increase in visits to the store also made more sense. God, if they had . . . if that was Buffy . . . Giles ran harder, pushing the thoughts from his mind. 

They found her again, crouching against a wall, trying to hide herself in the surrounding boxes and bags of trash.

Giles hung back with Ethan as one after another the children approached her. He just tried to absorb the reality of what they had done. 

Covered in dirt. Bleeding, torn fingers. Giles reached the obvious conclusion before Xander confirmed his worst fears.

“Our spell. Our resurrection spell worked like a magic charm. We brought you back to life, Buffy.” Xander turned to Willow, “Right where we left her.”

It was only by chance Giles looked at Ethan, standing silently, jaw clenched trying to keep himself in check. Not until later was Giles able to process this as the image of a man for the first time coming face to face with and realizing the full weight of his actions. 

“She had to ... dig out of her own grave.” Tara’s quiet vocalization kept echoing over and over again inside Giles’ head.

This broken, frightened creature was once the proud slayer and confident young woman he’d come to love as a daughter. And her own friends had done this to her. Giles felt the rage bubble up. There was no justification to such an action. How could they have been so foolish!

With great effort, he held his tongue and remained on the periphery. He didn’t trust himself not to throttle Willow, or the rest for that matter. As for Buffy, if that really was her, he didn’t trust himself not to frighten her more than the others were by grabbing her and never letting go.

“Welcome home, Slayer,” a rough voice growled from behind him.

Giles tore his eyes away from the tableau to see not one, but nearly half a dozen leather-clad demons closing in on them.

“Alive and kickin’ after all!” the lead demon grinned. “Well, alive, anyway. Not looking too good, though, is she?”

“I don't see you winning too many beauty contests,” Xander stood, lifting his axe. “Unless the Miss ‘My Face Fell Off’ pageant gets going.”

Leave it to Xander to still be able to quip at a time like this. 

A fire spell from Tara, of all people, brought an abrupt halt to the quipping and posturing. The quiet alley became a battleground. Weapons were drawn as their little band of humans tried to defend their town, taking up the fight they had inherited. 

Not that it was much of a battle. Xander and Willow were both sent flying. Giles soon joined them in a trash pile of his own.

The lead demon was going on and on about how he and his fellow gang members were going to violate the humans in any number of ways, when Giles realized that Buffy was now standing, walking toward the creature.

“So who wants to go first?” he laughed, then caught sight of Buffy. “I was really hoping it would be you.”

A quick backhand whipped her head back, but she remained still and upright before the demon, the dazed look replaced by the familiar one that stated all too clearly “That is the last mistake you will ever make.”

She stopped the demon’s second punch, countering with a double punch of her own followed by a swift kick, knocking the demon unconscious to the ground. Uncertainty flickered across her features before the other demons attacked and instinct kicked in.

Ducking, dodging, kicking, hitting, rising against insurmountable odds, Buffy fought back against the demons with reflexes as sharp and skills as honed as the day she died. The gang soon lay at her feet.  
Dazed, Giles took Ethan’s offered hand and got to his feet, joining the others as they approached Buffy. 

“You’re back, Buffy, you really are.” Xander moved in to hug his old friend, but she backed off, fear painting her features once again.

She looked at each of them in turn, anguished and lost. Something flickered briefly in her eyes when her gaze fell on Giles. She walked toward him slowly, then past him, breaking into a run and disappearing around the corner into the night.

“Where’s she going?” Anya asked uncertainly.

“Should we follow her?” Tara joined in.

“No,” Giles’ voice was firm and decisive.

“But shouldn’t we at least see—” Willow started.

He cut her off. “No. You’ve done more than enough.”

That said, he dropped his axe to the ground and left them with each other. 

While his first instinct was to run after Buffy, Giles turned in the opposite direction. She wasn’t ready to face them yet, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to deal with her like this, what ever this was.

Maybe he was transferring his guilt, but when she had looked at him after the others, there had been pain and betrayal there. If he had paid more attention this summer, maybe he could have prevented this. But he had failed her again.  
His steps slowed. Wasn’t that all the more reason to go after her now? No. She needed space. She needed time.

He took some comfort in the fact that she could still defend herself. 

Someone should tell Joyce, prepare her for what she would soon have to face. But that wasn’t his responsibility. He had gotten her daughter killed. That was more than enough.

With no other options, Giles headed back to the Magic Box. Assessing the damage would provide ample distraction for the moment.


	3. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce must face the consequences of the gang’s actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the episode After Life. Jane Espenson’s dialogue from the episode is used with the utmost respect and admiration.

She trusted Spike, she really did. But being a mother, Joyce couldn’t help but worry about Dawn being out with him at night. Especially after Xander’s phone call. That, coupled with the sounds of roaring motorcycles all night long, didn’t help her unease.

The paperwork she had brought home from the gallery was doing little to distract her as she reclined against her headboard. Every little noise made her start. She wasn’t normally this edgy, but there was something about tonight. A sort of anxious anticipation had settled like lead in her stomach. About what she had no idea.

Joyce was off her bed the moment she heard the front door open.

“Mom?” Dawn’s voice called up the stairs.

Oh, thank god! She caught a bit of muffled conversation as she neared the landing.

“Mom,” Dawn called again, “don’t come down yet.”

Don’t come down? What was going on? But she remained where she was.

Her youngest came up the stairs, face far too serious.

“Honey, what happened?” The relief was gone, anxiety firmly in place once again.

Dawn took a deep breath. “I need you to be very calm, okay? Don’t make any sudden movements.”

With that, the girl took her hand and led her down the stairs.

Standing in the doorway, wearing the dress she had been buried in, was her dead daughter. Buffy, covered in dirt and grime, was looking around the foyer with detachment.

“No,” Joyce breathed, knees nearly giving out. It couldn’t be.

Dawn squeezed her hand. “Mom, it’s okay. It really is her.”

“Buffy?” she asked quietly as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The girl looked at her, eyes wide and haunted.

“What—I don’t—” Joyce looked to Dawn for answers.

“I’m not sure,” the girl shrugged. “But she’s here and—Hey, Buffy, why don’t we get you upstairs and cleaned up. How’s that sound?”

“Okay,” was the quiet reply.

 

 

Joyce left them alone in the bathroom while she dug out some of Buffy’s clothes. Simple tasks. She could do those. Anything more than that at the moment and she might go over the edge into shock. Maybe she was dreaming? Why else would her youngest be playing mother?

“There you are. Knew you were under that dirt somewhere,” Dawn said. Joyce walked in to find the girl carefully wiping away the grime that clung to her sister. Seeing her, Dawn smiled, “You remember what Mom used to say, ‘Either wash that neck or plant potatoes.’”

Buffy didn’t even blink.

Dawn caught her mother’s eyes, pleading for help.

“It was never one of my funnier sayings, was it?” she said, setting the clothes down on the sink. “What would you say to getting into some clean clothes?”

Buffy nodded slightly.

Together Dawn and Joyce managed to get a relatively unresponsive Buffy dressed.

It wasn’t until Buffy was dressed and her hair pulled back that Joyce caught sight of her hands. Bloody fingers with torn nails.

“Oh, honey, what hap—” she reached for a hand that was quickly withdrawn. Too much. Um, “We’ll leave those until later, all right?”

Buffy stood up and walked out of the bathroom.

Exchanging looks of equal uncertainty, Joyce and Dawn followed. Buffy was standing just inside her bedroom.

“Everything’s the same,” her voice was heavy with doubt.

“Except the sheets,” Dawn interjected. Mother and sister gave her confused looks. “What? Mom’s all anal about the laundry. Fresh sheets every two weeks or else the sock gnomes will get you.”

Joyce opened her mouth to defend her laundry preference when the front door slammed against the downstairs wall, causing Buffy and the others to jump.

“What’s that?” Buffy retreated into her room.

“It’s probably just—”

“Bit! You here?”

“Spike,” Dawn finished. “I’ll go.”

Soon after Dawn went down the stairs, Joyce followed, not all that comfortable being left alone with Buffy. She wasn’t sure if she was doing too much or too little.

Spike’s voice floated up the stairs. “Thank god. You scared me half to death . . . or more to death. You—I could kill you.”

“Spike,” Dawn’s voice was heavy with warning.

“I mean it. I could rip your head off and—” he saw Joyce. “Joyce, I don’t really mean it. She just ran off and, well, you know how it is.”

She knew all too well. But right now, “Spike, I think there’s something you need to know.”

He looked back and forth between them. “Christ, what is it? Not one of those biker demons. Did they—” his words died mid-sentence and he looked past them. Spike’s features hardened. “I’m going to kill that fucking magician. Sending one of those things here.”

Buffy carefully made her way down the stairs, looking at Spike the entire way.

“Oh god,” he whispered as she joined them in the foyer.

Dawn jumped in. “She’s kind of, um . . . She’s been through a lot . . . with the . . . death. But I think she’s okay.”

Spike just continued to stare.

“Spike, are you okay?” Joyce asked with concern.

“I’m . . .” he turned on Dawn. “What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing!”

Buffy began to fidget, hands going to her shirt.

“Her hands,” Spike said.

Joyce found her voice. “We were getting around to those. Not quite sure how it happened.”

“I do. Clawed her way out of a coffin, that’s how,” his voice had taken on a quiet anger. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah. That’s . . . what I had to do.”

Joyce felt sick to her stomach. Who would put her through such a thing? Ever since she had been little that had been Buffy’s greatest fear. And now . . .

“Joyce? Bit?” Spike cut into her thoughts. “You girls want to get us the first aid kit?”

“Of course,” Joyce replied automatically, taking Dawn by the hand and heading into the kitchen.

They searched in silence, giving Spike some time alone with Buffy.

“Mom?”

Joyce came out of the pantry with the kit.

“She will be okay, right? I mean she has to be, doesn’t she?” Dawn’s lower lip trembled.

Joyce pulled her youngest into a tight hug. “I don’t know, baby. I hope so. And maybe Spike can help her where we can’t.”

“What if—what if this isn’t real? A-and tomorrow I wake up and she’s . . .”

Joyce kissed her on the forehead. “I think this is very real.”

And she believed that finally, not certain if that was good or bad.

“Think we should go back out there?” Dawn asked, stepping back and wiping her tears away.

“I think so.”

They found Spike kneeling before Buffy as she sat on the couch. Holding her hands gently.

Joyce had enough time to wonder how this man could have ever been evil, when the front door burst open for the second time that evening.

Willow, Tara, Xander, and Anya all came running through.

“Is she here?” Willow shouted excitedly.

“She’s here!” Anya exclaimed, seeing them.

“You’re here!” Willow smiled.

“We didn’t know where you were,” Xander gasped.

Anya, bluntly, “You ran away.”

“Are you okay?” Tara joined in quietly.

“You knew about this?” Dawn asked with shock.

But she was drowned out by a thousand other questions from the group.

Spike stood disgustedly and brushed past Joyce into the kitchen. She heard the kitchen door open and close.

It was then she saw Ethan, standing quietly in the foyer, away from the others. He must have slipped in after them.

Dawn insinuated herself between her sister and her sister’s friends. “Hey! Back off!”

The room fell silent.

“What did you do?” Joyce asked horrified, directing the question more at Ethan than the others.

Willow replied almost cheerfully, “A spell. We, we did a spell.”

“We didn’t think it worked,” Anya said, “but—”

“Is she going to be okay?” Dawn cut her off.

Buffy finally spoke, “I’m okay. I’m gonna be fine. I remember. You brought me back.”

That only set off another round of questions from the group.

Ethan’s voice cut through the din, “Give the girl some space.”

Willow turned on him. “We are, we just want to know how she is.”

“She’s tired. Leave her be for tonight.”

“I think I . . . just wanna go to sleep,” Buffy agreed.

“Right, long day,” Willow flashed a wide, apologetic smile. “But Buffy, we got you out. We really did. Go, get some sleep.”

“Tired,” Buffy said, standing uncomfortably.

“Well, yeah,” Anya chimed in, “I mean jet-lag from hell has gotta be, you know, jet-lag from hell.”

Hell? Was that why . . . No, not now. Joyce turned to her youngest. “Dawn, honey, you want to take Buffy upstairs, make sure she has everything she needs?”

Dawn gave the group one more withering glance before taking her sister lightly by the hand and leading her to her room.

Willow walked up to Joyce. “Isn’t this great? Buffy’s back. She’s really back. I—we brought her back.”

For a brief second Joyce didn’t see the fresh-faced, eager-to-please young girl, but instead a very dark and powerful woman. She was reminded of one of Ethan’s sketches from a couple years ago. Then she saw just Willow again. It was more than a little startling.

“It’s a lot to take in,” was all she said.

“Of course it is,” Willow said. “We’ll go, okay. Give you guys some time.”

With that, the group said their good-byes and left the house, in a quiet but still excited state. Ethan was nowhere to be seen, but Joyce had a feeling he wasn’t far away.

On a whim she went out onto the front porch and there he was, standing quietly in the shadows, looking out at the night.

“It was a resurrection spell,” he said in response to her unasked question. “Quite powerful with no foreseeable side-effects.”

“Such as?”

“Buffy is Buffy. Not a zombie. Not some demon. That is the same girl we buried four months ago,” he reassured her.

“Why did you leave her in her grave, to dig her own way out?” she said coldly, standing next to him, almost but not quite touching.

Ethan faced her then, the pain evident in his eyes even in the dim light. “We were attacked and didn’t think the spell was completed. Survival instincts kicked in and it wasn’t until later that we found out it had worked.”

Joyce was at a loss. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. What did this mean? Why had he done this? Would Buffy really be okay? On and on.

So instead, “I should go call Rupert, he should know.”

“He does know. Not about the spell, he didn’t know about that,” he emphasized. “When we were attacked, I went to Rupert for help. He was with us when we found her, or I should say, when she found us.”

“Then why isn’t he here?”

Ethan shrugged. “After Buffy took out the demons and ran away the final time, I just assumed he’d gone after her.”

“But he didn’t?” This puzzled her. It was possible the shock made him question the reality of things as well. But why hadn’t he come here? If for no other reason than to see how she was, maybe give her a warning.

“You need your rest, too, Joyce,” he said, stepping off the porch. He seemed to hesitate on the verge of doing something. Taking her hand, he squeezed it and let go. “Go be with your girls.

And he left her standing alone on the porch, still in shock and still uncertain.

Joyce was about to go in when she spotted a dim orange glow under the tree. She walked out into her yard and found Spike leaning against the oak, smoking his cigarette and watching Buffy’s dark window.

“She’s come back to us,” he blew out a puff of smoke. “But why aren’t we happier about it?”

Joyce leaned next to him.

“Maybe it just hasn’t had time to sink in yet.”

“Maybe.”

The stood there in companionable silence.

Spike tossed the cigarette to the ground and ground it out. “Your bloke gave you good advice. Get some rest. I have a feeling there’s a long road ahead of us.”

Joyce could only agree.  



End file.
